Stolen First Kisses
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik and Bakura are both English university students when Marik wakes up one morning to find a mysterious note from Bakura. "Does stealing a kiss count as a first kiss? Because, you know, it's still a kiss..." Fluffy thiefshipping oneshot, rated T for language and nothing else!


**I have a thiefshipping oneshot for you! This is a part of Unattainable Dreams' prompt exchange challenge, and I absolutely love the prompt I got this time. This plot just sort of arrived in my head as soon as I read it. XD It is AU (Alternate Universe, NOT canon) and is set in an English university because that's the only university type I know about haha. Because I don't know if other countries have the same system, Marik and Bakura are both PHD students – this means they already have an undergraduate and a masters' degree, so they will be aged around 23/24. They also lecture younger students as a part of their studies. XD**

**Warnings: Bad language, lots of fluff!**

**Disclaimer: Kazuki Takahashi owns Yu-Gi-Oh and these characters!**

**Now I've bored you all with that information, on with the story! This little oneshot will be from Marik's point of view, and I hope you enjoy it! – Jem**

Prompt: Does stealing a kiss count as a first kiss? Because, you know, it's still a kiss… **[Sent by Siakeruu Arrisorra]**

Marik was pulled slowly out of his comfortable sleep, his eyes blinking open and squinting a little. He coughed once, propping himself up on his pillows. Sunlight dribbled through the half-closed curtains, illuminating his messy student room in strips of yellow and highlighting the pile of work papers he had yet to work through. Marik groaned slightly. He lifted one hand up to his forehead, brushing away messy golden strands as he manoeuvred himself upright, attempting to clear his fuzzy mind a little. It wasn't often that Marik got a lie in like this, but on the rare occasion that he did, he liked to take advantage of it.

Rolling under the many blankets, Marik lunged for his phone, scooping it up to check the time: 11:47. To his surprise, Marik's phone buzzed, the screen flashing up with three new messages. Arching a perfectly shaped brow, Marik pulled up his text screen and rolled his eyes a little; two were from Ishizu, one from Bakura. Of course.

With a loud sigh, Marik completely ignored the messages from his sister, instead scrolling straight down to Bakura's name. He rubbed his eyes with his spare hand, yawning widely as he sat up a little further, resting his back against the headboard. The phone glowed insistently in his hand but Marik wanted to be fully awake before he attempted to deal with Bakura. That pale man never failed to get under his skin.

When his head felt a bit clearer, Marik finally pulled up the message and looked down, sleepy eyes skimming across the message. _'Ishtar, figured you'd still be sleeping. Go look at your desk when you finally manage to get your lazy arse out of bed.'_

Marik stifled a snort, turning it into a yawn instead as he propped himself up a bit further. The blankets pooled about his waist as he flicked up his keypad, typing back a messy reply. _'How the hell do you know if I'm still sleeping? And what have you done to my desk?' _Marik leaned back with a low hiss, his head hitting the board behind him with a low crack. He had no doubt that Bakura would have sneaked into his room when he was asleep and left something on his desk; Marik's pale friend seemed to be able to get his sticky fingers anywhere if he set his mind to it. Marik could still remember the day he had been woken at three in the morning to find those deep brown eyes leering at him, white hair falling crazily down a pale face as Bakura leered over him.

Marik suppressed a shudder.

His phone buzzed again. _'Stop texting me and get out of bed. Look at your desk. It's important.'_

Marik grinned a little, typing out a reply despite Bakura's orders. _'You texted me first, bastard.'_ He placed his phone back down on his table without waiting for a reply, instead getting to his feet slowly and stretching up in the air. He yawned widely again, enjoying the click in his back before he settled back down, wriggling a little. He crossed the room in two steps, knocking aside the carelessly piled scraps of worksheets he should really be looking through before later today, but for now, Marik ignored them, instead searching for whatever Bakura would have left on his desk. It didn't take him long; Bakura had been as clever as always.

Sitting under a hole puncher lay a cleverly-concealed note. Marik instantly recognised the flowing, jagged handwriting, the ink obviously from some kind of over-the-top fountain pen that Bakura liked to favour, no doubt in some sordid attempt to impress others. Marik scoffed lightly. His pale friend really was too extravagant. Even more confusing were the words themselves, however; they were scrawled neatly across the page, underlined by two deliberate black lines:

_Does stealing a kiss count as a first kiss? Because, you know, it's still a kiss..._

Marik simply stared for a moment. The words flowed across his skull, filling his head with a strange mix of confusion as he frowned down at the note, brows furrowed. It was definitely from Bakura – no one else could have got into his room to leave it there. But ... what on earth did it mean? What was Bakura talking about?

Marik spent several minutes simply staring at the note.

His brows furrowed and he reached forwards to snap the paper up into his grip, lips pursing. Marik could only assume that the reference to stealing was supposed to link to Bakura being a thief, but as to the rest of it, Marik didn't have a clue what Bakura was trying to tell him. He couldn't think of anything the kiss could represent – what could Bakura have stolen from him? Marik certainly would not put it past Bakura to sneak in here in the middle of the night and take something; indeed, he had done that very thing before. Marik had woken up to find several items missing, usually his gold. Bakura was basically a magpie.

With a low sigh, Marik set about searching his desk, pulling open his drawers and searching through his gold. It all seemed intact, which only confused Marik further. Why would Bakura have snuck in here to leave him such an annoyingly ambiguous note, unless it was simply to piss him off? If that was what Bakura wanted, then he was most certainly succeeding.

Blowing a puff of air out through his lips, Marik turned back to his bed and snatched up his phone again. Bakura had texted again whilst Marik was occupied with his gold: _'You'll like this present, I feel.'_

Marik frowned before typing out his response. _'Why on earth would I like some random note about kissing, freak?'_

_'Idiot. You should know me better than that. Turn the damn thing over, Marik.'_

Marik couldn't hold back a grin at that reply – he could practically hear Bakura's sarcastic eye-roll. Still, he guessed he had better obey, and obediently picked the scrap of paper up again. It felt strangely heavy in his hand. Violet eyes once more scanning the cryptic message, Marik turned the paper over. His eyes widened.

There was a ring taped to the back.

Not just any ring, either. That was _Marik's_ ring. Marik's ring, the emblem of the Ishtar family, spun from pure Egyptian gold. He wore it on the middle finger of his left hand, always, not even taking it off when he slept.

So how in the hell had Bakura got hold of it?

Marik's eyes instinctively darted down from the paper to his slender left hand, eyes going wide when he saw that his middle finger was indeed bare. He clutched the note in his right hand as he lifted his left up to his face, examining the band of slightly paler skin where the ring usually sat. Then he flicked his attention back to the note, examining the ring taped to its back. He peeled it off with careful fingers; the metal was cool, so it must have been off his skin for several hours, but there was absolutely no doubt that it was his ring. The Ishtar arms were plain to see, the pure amethyst set into its centre just as bright as he remembered, perfectly matching Marik's eyes.

It was his, alright.

With slightly irritated movements, Marik tugged the ring off the paper, checking it carefully for damage, before he slid it back onto his finger. It glinted in the sunlight, same as ever. Marik still felt violated, though. To think that Bakura must have slunk in here in the middle of the night, and had the _audacity_ to go to Marik's sleeping form and remove the ring from his finger –

A sudden memory flashed through Marik's skull.

_A rustle by the window woke him slightly. Violet eyes blinked open blearily to find a shadow hovering by the window; a shadow with very familiar white hair and a long black coat._

_"Bakuraaa..." Marik's voice sounded thick and hazy with sleep. "Get out of my room!"_

_Brown eyes twinkled, amused. The shadow approached the bed and Marik lifted his hands, feebly swatting. "Out of my room!"_

_A dark chuckle escaped pale lips as Bakura came nearer, looming right over Marik's sleepy eyes. "Go back to sleep. You won't remember this anyway."_

_"Just get out..." Marik wasn't properly awake, however, so his eyes soon fell closed again as he settled back grumpily under the blankets. He could hear movements around his room, a pen scratching somewhere over by his desk, but Marik couldn't be bothered to wake up enough to kick Bakura out. In all likelihood, Bakura wouldn't leave anyway. Marik's head still felt fuzzy and tired, full of aches and pains, so he allowed himself to drift further into sleep. The blackness behind his eyes was soft and comforting as Marik slowly fell back into his dreams._

_Precise footsteps snapped back across the room, but Marik was already too far gone to rouse himself. There was a presence close to him, but in his softened mental state Marik found it more comforting than irritating; he was glad when the warmth moved closer. There was breath on his face, and then something soft met his lips._

_Marik almost startled awake, but the soft thing was warm and lovely as it moved against his mouth, sending Marik further into soft, pleasant dreams. Then the thing pulled away, pulling a mewl from between Marik's lips, and then there was a touch on his left hand, something sliding off his middle finger, and the presence was gone._

_Marik fell back into sleep, his dreams pleasant and, for once, undisturbed._

Violet eyes narrowed down at the paper in his hand, reading the words once more.

_Does stealing a kiss count as a first kiss? Because, you know, it's still a kiss..._

That soft thing on his mouth...

No way. Bakura would never dare.

Marik felt a snarl rip between his gritted teeth. His fingers went straight to his phone again, dropping the note carelessly as he punched in another text, the paper floating aimlessly down to the floor. _'What the hell was that last night, Bakura?'_

It took a few minutes for Bakura to reply; time that Marik spent striding in circles around his room, fuming. When the text came it was hardly satisfactory. _'To what are you referring, my dear Marik?'_

Marik snarled. _'You know damn well.'_

_'If you want more, meet me tonight in the refectory at 7.'_

Marik stared at the last text from Bakura, his jaw jutting out and his brows weighing heavily over his eyes. What on earth did that even mean? _'If you want more'?_ More of what, exactly? More of Bakura stealing his jewellery and violating him whilst he slept?

Marik didn't think so.

With a snarl, he slammed the phone back onto his desk, sending papers spiralling through the air. He had far too much work on right now to waste time dealing with whatever stupid problem Bakura decided to thrust in his path. The papers currently sprawled all over his desk needed to be ordered, read through, and marked before Marik went to lecture his class in the afternoon, and he needed to read up on exactly what he was meant to be teaching them. Plus, he had three essays due for his own PHD in the next month that all needed referencing, and his tutor was on his back because he was still falling slack on his work hours.

Bakura, of course, had none of these problems.

The pale student was on the same course as Marik, but somehow, Bakura always seemed to be at least five steps ahead of all their fellow students. Marik had his suspicions, naturally. Sure, it _could_ have been coincidence that the mark scheme went missing the hour before the exam, and then Bakura got perfect marks on all his tests, but Marik knew the white-haired man far too well. Of course, there was never any evidence to throw Bakura into suspicion.

Then, there was the fact that Bakura's lectures always seemed to go off without a hitch. His students consistently got better scores than Marik's in the exams, no matter how much effort Marik put into it or how many assignments he forced his students to do. Bakura was always ahead, and it pissed Marik off. Bakura was arrogant enough already without the added ammunition.

With a snarl, Marik forced the pale man out of his mind. He sat down at his desk and pulled the pile of ragged papers towards him, immersing himself in marking and reading in order to escape the clutches of the pale man who was manipulating him so well from afar. There was no way Marik would go to meet Bakura that evening. In fact, he didn't even want to have to look at Bakura, not when the thought of losing his ring still made Marik flare with bright fury. How dare Bakura sneak in here and take his most prized possession?!

With a low growl, Marik forced his mind back to the exceptionally dull papers in front of him, firmly keeping his attention away from Bakura. He was lecturing in two hours, but at this rate, he'd be lucky to have even half of these done on time. Marik's eyes slid closed, feeling fluttery in panic. Damn Bakura! He always knew how to get under Marik's skin, and he always knew just which day to pick. Marik's students had an exam in a week, and their results would affect his.

Marik cursed under his breath.

Despite his less-than-enthusiastic attitude, the pile slowly dwindled until Marik had at least looked through all of the papers, even if they weren't properly marked. He carried them with him on the way to the university building, his bag heavy on his shoulders as he tried not to think too much about the pale man who had sneaked into his room last night.

Unfortunately, Bakura had other ideas.

No sooner had Marik entered the university buildings than a white-haired shadow flicked into the corner of his vision. Marik steadfastly ignored him, striding straight over to the door of his lecture room with the hopes of darting through it before he could be stopped. Before he could get there, though, a single pale hand shot fluidly out of the darkness, grabbed him by the shoulder, and span him back around, forcing him down a tiny corridor to the left.

Marik glowered.

Bakura grinned, slamming Marik's back into a wall as he hovered close over his head. His appearance was just as eccentric as ever; his long black cloak swung wildly around his half-unbuttoned blue shirt, his casual jeans slung carelessly about his hips. His white hair, as crazy as ever, fell down around Marik's shoulders as the pale student leaned closer, brown gaze searing straight up into Marik's violets.

"Well, hello there, Ishtar."

Bakura's voice was as smooth and dark and alluring as Marik knew it would be. Somehow, though, it still managed to send shivers down his spine.

Marik spat. "What the hell do you want, _Touzoku_?"

"Come now, Marik," Bakura chuckled, his eyes glinting with surprising audacity. "Is that any way to speak to your good friend?"

_"Good friends_ don't sneak into each other's rooms at night..." Marik began with a scoff.

Bakura interrupted with a chuckle. "Well, if they're _very_ good friends..."

"And they _don't_ steal each others' precious possessions!" Marik seethed, acting as if Bakura had never spoken. He snarled and snapped at Bakura, glaring with as much anger as he could muster at the hateful pale face before him. His lips drew into a thin line.

Bakura merely grinned back at him, one corner of that irritating mouth pulling up into an arrogant smirk. "Well, it's hardly stealing if I gave it back to you."

"You still _snuck into my room_," Marik snarled dangerously, "And _stole it off my finger_."

Bakura grinned smugly. "You didn't even wake up, spleeyhead that you are."

"I _woke up_," Marik snarled, although he backed off a little when he remembered that strange flashback he had experienced earlier. Something soft on his mouth, leaving a lingering feeling of longing and warmth long after it had gone...

But surely Bakura wouldn't have...

Marik shook his head and continued with a snarl. "You shouldn't have been sneaking around my room anyway! Dirty thief..."

"Your insults get worse every day." Bakura was laughing at him; Marik could sense it.

Marik hissed, attempting to arch away from the wall only for Bakura to slam him back again, although not painfully so. Marik's features furrowed into a dark frown. "You're such a fucking bastard. What makes you think you can just try and steal things from me?"

"Oh, I did steal from you," Bakura all but purred, leaning in far too close for Marik's taste. "You're just too unintelligent to work out what I took."

Marik glared, his mind instantly rejecting what he thought Bakura was getting at. The wall was firm and unforgiving against his back, Bakura's hands high on his arms as he held Marik against the wall, brown eyes glittering with amusement. Marik swallowed, the words of the note he had found that morning floating around in his skull. _Does stealing a kiss count as a first kiss..._

Bakura wouldn't dare.

Violet eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as Marik snarled up at him. "You better not have done what I think you might have."

"Really, Marik." Bakura's tone was lined with amusement. "You cannot be that dense."

Marik hissed. "Stop fucking sneaking into my room."

"But it's always so much _fun_." Bakura's apparent delight in Marik's anger only fuelled it more.

Marik ripped away from the wall, pushing Bakura off him with a harsh shove. "Just stay the fuck away from me."

Bakura was utterly unfazed, as ever. He watched Marik with a gleaming gaze, the shadows of the corridor dancing around his white hair, highlighting the shadows under his cheekbones. His long black coat swirled as he turned, flicking a hand. "Go on, then. Run along back to your class."

Marik rolled his eyes pointedly before turning, heading back to his lecture room and normality, rather than the craziness that was Bakura's life. His head was full of confused thoughts but Marik steadfastly pushed them all away. He refused to have his attention monopolised by Bakura any more.

"See you at 7."

The dark voice was barely a whisper in Marik's ear as a willowy white form whooshed past him. Marik stopped dead in his tracks, watching as Bakura disappeared fluidly around a corner, crowds of students parting to make way for him, like usual. Everyone knew to avoid the mad PHD student with white hair.

Everyone except Marik, it would seem.

Marik felt like tearing his hair out.

Marik bit back a scream of frustration as he turned back to his lecture theatre, striding inside with the pile of messily-marked papers tucked under his arm. Most of his students were already seated; he was late, _again_, and all because of that stupid white-headed idiot. Bakura be damned, there was no way Marik was meeting him that evening.

As Marik turned to the class, beginning to hand out the papers, he couldn't stop his mind from spiralling back towards Bakura. _See you at 7..._ It was just so arrogant of him to assume that Marik would show up wherever and whenever Bakura wanted him to! Marik had a life of his own to live. He certainly did not revolve around the whims and wants of an arrogant white-headed student who was too clever for his own good.

Marik growled quietly, earning a couple of odd looks from the students around him. Marik ignored them, as per usual, instead handing out the last of the papers and turning back to the front of the room. His students were as inattentive as ever, and Marik was not in the mood to help them understand, so the lecture was not exactly what could be described a success. Eventually, Marik gave up and simply set them an exercise, flopping down at his desk whilst they all filed out. The room fell eerily quiet; it was always strange to be left alone in a place usually bustling with people, to see hoards of empty seats staring watchfully around silent, dead air. Marik suppressed a shudder.

Marik released a sigh, closing down his laptop and carelessly pulling out all of the cables. His mind was straying back to Bakura. The words from the note that morning constantly swirled around in his head, becoming a mess of half-imagined thoughts and dreams until Marik wasn't quite sure what had actually happened, and what were just a part of his fantasies. _Stealing a kiss ... it's still a kiss ..._And Bakura had been even more insufferable than usual, demanding that Marik meet him that evening...

Marik wasn't going. No way.

Breathing in deeply, Marik slipped his laptop in its case and hoisted it over his shoulder. He was distracted as he left the lecture room, his mind swirling with a mix of thoughts that he wasn't able to sort his way through without getting lost in a welter of confusion and anger. Always anger. Bakura never failed to rile Marik, no matter what they were doing.

Marik made it back to his room after wandering haphazardly through the crowds for a while. He dumped his bag carelessly in the hall and collapsed straight back on his bed, aching dully from his disturbed sleep, never mind how Bakura had slammed him against the wall earlier. Marik was fed up of being treated like a rag doll. With a groan, Marik burrowed back under his covers and buried his face firmly in his pillow, eyes closing in a matter of seconds. He was going to catch up on his sleep; work, students, and Bakura be damned.

He was asleep in less than a minute.

The sun streamed through the window at a low angle, illuminating the desk and the sheets in a soft whitish light, bringing out the grey in the cracked walls. Marik blinked blearily, surfacing from his sleep as a diver would from the deepest ocean. He sat up slowly, bones aching. The covers pooled about his waist as he dragged his phone out of his pocket, glad that the screen was dull in the late evening light. Again, Marik was surprised to see he had a message.

_'The refectory. 10 minutes. Don't forget.'_

Marik startled awake in seconds, his gaze flying to the clock at the top of his phone's screen. It was ten past seven. Ten _past_ seven. Bakura had been expecting him ten minutes ago, and that text had been sent to his phone twenty minutes ago. Bakura was not someone who enjoyed being kept waiting.

Before he had even thought through his actions, Marik was flying out of his bed and running to the bathroom to ready himself.

Half-way there, however, Marik forced himself to stop in his tracks. Why on earth was he suddenly jumping to the whims of a man he hated? Marik had sworn that he wouldn't meet Bakura; if that would make him pissed, then Bakura could deal with it. Marik wasn't going to blindly obey his every desire.

With a huff, Marik turned away from the bathroom, lips pursing. His stomach growled in hunger so he made his way over to the kitchen, hunting through the cupboards for something vaguely edible enough to eat. The ham sitting in the back of the fridge looked worryingly green, so Marik simply shut the door on it before turning his attention to the other cupboards. Unfortunately, they all appeared to be empty.

Cursing his greedy housemates, Marik slammed the kitchen door behind him and grabbed his coat, deciding to head to the university refectory to grab a meal there. He squeezed his feet back into his shoes and made to leave the house, swearing at the rain that dripped down his blond hair.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _'Half an hour late, Ishtar. I expected better from you.'_

Marik stopped in his tracks. Dammit, he had completely forgotten that Bakura would be in the refectory, waiting for him.

Angrily, he typed out a response, brows furrowed. _'Fucking idiot, I'm not coming to meet you.'_

_'That's what you think, Ishtar.'_

Marik snarled at his phone, fingers flying on the keys before he could think about what he was typing. _'I do not obey your every word, bastard, especially after you stole from me!'_

_'You idiot. I bet you're on your way right now, aren't you?'_ Marik could practically hear Bakura smirking through the text.

Marik held back a growl and resisted chucking the phone across the road. Bakura just had to second-guess him, didn't he? _'I am not going to meet you. I am going to eat. If you happen to be there too, then more's the pity.'_

_'Just get in here, Marik.'_

Marik growled, annoyed. He was almost at the refectory now anyway, and if he didn't go inside then he would just look like an idiot, hanging around on the street in the rain when everyone else was rushing into the warm restaurant. But Marik would be damned if he appeared to be obeying Bakura's order.

It really was cold out here.

With a low hiss, Marik shoved his phone back into his pocket and stalked into the refectory, head held high. He spotted white hair in the corner of his eye almost as soon as he entered, but Marik made sure to stay away at first, pursing his lips as he headed straight over to the bar. He ordered a drink, leaning against the counter.

Marik was hardly surprised when there was a _whoosh_ beside him, and a familiar scent filled his nostrils as white hair swirled into the corner of his vision. Pale skinny elbows fell onto the wood beside him as a dark voice crooned into his ear. "I knew you'd turn up eventually."

"I'm not here for you," Marik hissed in response.

"Oh, that's what you think." Bakura sounded as arrogant as ever.

Marik cursed under his breath, turning to send Bakura a deep glare. Glittering brown eyes met his gaze, an amused smirk tugging at one corner of Bakura's lips. The barman soon returned but Bakura intercepted him, swiftly handing over the money – probably stolen – before he scooped up Marik's drink and turned, crooking one finger at Marik to beckon him onwards.

Marik snarled, but followed.

They were soon seated opposite each other at a small table in the corner of the room. Bakura's long, slender fingers released Marik's drink with a curious reluctance, pushing it with a flick of a pale wrist to his half of the table. Marik accepted it sullenly, sending Bakura a harsh glare. "I really am not here for you."

Bakura's lips quirked upwards. "Then what, pray tell, are you here for?"

"My fucking stomach," Marik muttered, taking a swig of his drink before slamming it back down onto the table. "And my housemates are fools and ate all the food."

Bakura's smirk only widened at that. Fluidly, he dipped over the back of his chair and scooped up a menu, placing it firmly in Marik's hand with a deep, mocking bow. "They're idiots for more reasons than that. You have no idea how easy it is to break into your house."

"Maybe for a magpie like you," Marik hissed, begrudgingly taking the menu. His stomach gave a loud, embarrassing grumble as he glanced down the list of food, and Marik could have sworn he felt his face flushing. He cursed inwardly.

Bakura's tone was distinctly amused. "Magpie?"

"It fits you," Marik muttered, looking steadfastly into the bottom of his glass as he set aside the menu and took a drink. His fingers tightened around his glass as he glared down. "You know, white hair, black coat, love of shiny things..."

Bakura's laughter was practically a purr. "Mmm, I suppose I do have rather special taste."

Marik blinked in surprise, glancing up to see Bakura's deep eyes boring straight into him. His brown gaze glittered. Marik felt his mouth suddenly go very dry, his fingers twitching around the glass, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. Licking his lips, Marik attempted speech once again. "So ... you thought it was a good idea to steal my ring? Damned magpie."

Bakura's lips twitched. "Your ring was not what I stole. We've been over this."

"You still took it," Marik retorted without thinking, sending Bakura a dark glare. "I mean, sure, you gave my ring back, but you still took it off me!"

"Not with intent to keep. So I didn't steal it." Bakura was fully smirking now.

Marik glared at him. "You're far too clever for your own good."

"The point is," Bakura continued smoothly, his voice dark and alluring. He leaned forwards with a dark smirk, the expression shooting sharp heaviness straight to the centre of Marik's gut. Bakura's smirk lifted. "What did I really steal from you?"

Marik blinked, unable to stop himself from leaning forwards to meet Bakura. The wood was hard and unforgiving beneath his elbows, warmed slightly by the heat of the bodies in the restaurant, the busy sounds of student life wafting through the university buildings. Marik's thoughts were racing; they flitted from the way Bakura had sounded in the corridor earlier, his face so close to Marik's, to the note he had found on his desk that morning ... _stealing a kiss ... _the strange flashback he had experienced, something soft on his lips before gentle fingers pried the ring off his middle finger...

Brown met violet.

Marik continued to stare at Bakura even as he lifted his left hand. The ring on his middle finger was twisted absent-mindedly between two of his others as he gazed straight at Bakura, chewing the inside of his cheek. The gold was warm beneath his hand.

"You kissed me." Marik's tone was matter-of-fact; blunt, even.

Bakura's expression didn't change. "I did."

Marik leaned back slowly, his elbows sliding off the tabletop with a gentle _hiss_. The background noise of the rabble of students seemed to fade, the world shrinking until it was just the two of them, wrapped up in a little bubble of their two chairs and the spindly wooden table, two drinks, and a menu.

Marik swallowed. His mind tripped over itself as he watched Bakura carefully, trying to discern anything behind that crazed mop of white hair. As ever, Bakura's expression was indiscernible. Marik's tongue darted out of his mouth, swiping his dry lips once as he gazed into the deeply unreadable eyes of the man he hated, yet called his friend. The light from the restaurant slid over Bakura's cheekbones, hollowing out his cheeks and highlighting the contrast between the paleness of his skin and hair and the deep black coat he wore. It made him a very striking figure, even in the eccentric shirt-and-jeans combo he usually wore. As Marik scoured Bakura's form, he thought he started to read him a little more – not in his expression, which Bakura was a master at keeping under control, but in his body language. Bakura's shoulders were tensed, the tendons in his hands and wrists standing out as he clasped his hands on the tabletop. His eyes were brown and burning as they seared into Marik's.

Bakura was nervous.

That small fact slid some confidence back into Marik's stance. He sat up a little straighter, hands returning to the wooden surface, mere inches from Bakura's. Marik's gaze flicked from Bakura's face, down to their hands, then back up to Bakura's searching gaze again.

"...Would you kiss me again?" Marik eventually voiced.

One white eyebrow arched. "Are you offering?"

It was an awkward dance of words, but one that Marik thought he could manage. A small glint appeared in his violet eyes as he leaned a little closer, breath mingling with Bakura's. "Depends on why."

"Why what?" Despite himself, Bakura's brows furrowed a little.

Marik took that as a good sign and allowed a smirk to decorate his own mouth. "Why did you steal a kiss last night?"

Bakura's lips parted slightly. He drew in a breath, halted, opened his mouth again, then blew out his air in a long, tired sigh. His brown eyes searched Marik's.

"I mean," Marik continued sagely, not fazed at all. "You could have just asked."

Bakura blinked, and Marik silently congratulated himself on catching him off his guard. Bakura recovered fast, though, and a wicked smirk soon coated his own expression. He leaned forwards until they were almost touching, foreheads just lightly resting against each other. "Stealing is so much more _fun_, don't you think?"

"Magpie." Marik shook his head, smirk still present at his lips.

Bakura matched his expression with the most perfectly-formed smirk Marik had ever seen grace his mouth. "You know me so well."

"I still think a kiss would be much more satisfying if I was actually awake," Marik shrugged, leaning back in his seat. He crossed his arms over his chest, casually inspecting the nails of one hand and steadfastly refusing to meet Bakura's gaze. "You know, so I could actually respond."

When Bakura replied, his tone was careful. "That depends entirely on what your response entails."

"What do you think?" Marik flicked a casual glance up at Bakura before going back to inspecting his nails.

A huff of air sounded between them. "Either you'd kiss me back or you'd slap me. Neither of those would be particularly desirable for me."

Marik quirked a brow, actually surprised at that. He sent Bakura a quizzical stare. "You wouldn't be happy if I kissed you back?"

"Hell no," Bakura scoffed. "Ishtar, if I kiss you, _I_ will kiss _you_. Not the other way around."

Marik grinned at that, the expression brightening his features. "I had thought that kissing was supposed to be a two-way thing."

"If you're a loser, maybe," Bakura countered with a chuckle.

Marik shrugged, remaining in his casual stance. His violet eyes darkened as he cast an illustrious gaze over to Bakura. "Mm, so. You don't want to kiss me again?"

"...Not whilst you're awake." Bakura's face remained indiscernible.

Marik bit back his growl of disappointment, instead going back to calmly inspecting his nails. He strove to keep his voice calm. "Well, that's a shame. I'd quite like to kiss you, now."

"I already told you, Ishtar." Bakura didn't even miss a beat as he responded. "_I_ kiss _you_. Not the other way around."

"Well maybe I'm not happy with that." Marik's temper flared again, hot anger sliding through his veins as he glared at Bakura.

Bakura leaned forwards suddenly, expression intense. "So go ahead."

Marik blinked in astonishment. "What, just ... kiss you?"

"Well, I assumed that was what you were implying." Bakura couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his tone, although his brown eyes were challenging when he met Marik's gaze.

Marik got the distinct feeling he was being dared.

Marik's nails dug into the wooden tabletop as he regarded Bakura, both of their forms almost perfectly mirroring the other as they both leaned in. Marik's stomach felt like it was about to leap out of his chest, his violet eyes glistening with a sheen of anxiety and something more. He swallowed as he scoured Bakura's expression. Bakura's lips were still twisted into their familiar smirk, and Marik had a sudden urge to kiss it off Bakura's face.

So he did.

Before he could think too far into his actions, Marik closed the miniscule amount of distance between their lips. Although he couldn't be sure, Marik could have sworn he saw Bakura smile the millisecond before their mouths met. Then, Marik stopped thinking as he became lost in sensation. This was what he had felt the night before, when he was half asleep – the warm _something_ on his lips that had left him with a feeling of such yearning. Only, this time was so much warmer, so much more inviting, because Marik was awake and aware, and he had been the one to initiate.

They kissed for minutes, until Marik had lost track of time, until he wasn't even sure where he was any more. All that mattered was Bakura, and his arms under Marik's fingers, and his forehead so close to Marik's, and his lips on Marik's own. Marik kissed and kissed until he felt a pressure on his chest, a burning like he was being stood on, until he came back to his senses and broke away from Bakura, drawing in a gasping, deep breath.

Bakura merely watched him with a new brightness lighting up his dark gaze.

Marik stared back for a long moment, lips sticky and wet, the taste of something foreign on his tongue. He shivered a little, goosebumps rising along his arms, blond hair dripping into his eyes as he met Bakura's gaze. They remained locked on each other.

One corner of Bakura's mouth soon tugged upwards into a smirk again. "I still prefer when I kiss you."

All the air whooshed out of Marik's lungs. "What the hell? Bakura, I wasn't even _awake_ when you kissed me!"

"Something I plan to rectify." Before Marik had time to respond, Bakura was back across the table and tugging Marik nearer. Pale fingers tangled in blond hair, better angling Marik's head as Bakura kissed him again, deeply.

Marik was left speechless.

Bakura was full-on grinning as he pulled back, fingers still tangled in Marik's hair. His eyes glimmered anew as he met Marik's gaze once more, still close enough that Marik could feel the heat from his skin, smell the alluring scent that spoke so plainly of Bakura.

"Told you so," Bakura nodded smugly. "Definitely better when I kiss you."

Marik merely glared at him.

Bakura's smirk lifted. "If you aren't going to say anything, I'll just stand up and walk away."

"The fuck you will." Marik dug his nails into the tops of Bakura's arms, slightly impressed with the muscle hid deceptively under his shirt. He leaned forwards again and pressed their foreheads together, violet eyes searing straight into Bakura's. A small smile alighted brown lips. "You know, a first kiss doesn't really count if you stole it whilst I was sleeping."

Bakura arched a brow. "That note was only a theoretical question, Ishtar. I couldn't care less what our first kiss is; only that there will be many more of them."

"Well, _I_ care," Marik responded stubbornly. "And who says you get many of them?"

"You do, idiot." Bakura grinned widely, leaning forwards again, but Marik pulled back with a small, playful shake of his head.

"My terms this time." Marik drifted his head a little closer, ducking into Bakura's space with a smile playing about his lips.

Bakura arched a quizzical brow. "Do go on."

"Stop sneaking into my room," Marik ordered brusquely. "If you want in, ask. I do not expect to wake up one morning with you randomly there, ok?"

Bakura's expression dropped a bit. "But sneaking around is so entertaining."

"Warn me first," Marik deadpanned.

Bakura grimaced. "Spoilsport."

Marik simply chuckled, leaning a little closer. "And no more stealing kisses, magpie. Just ask."

"You really are an idiot," Bakura scoffed, although the sound was light and without venom. "As if I'd ever _ask_."

"Mm, then I won't, either." Marik countered with a smile.

Bakura's brow rose even higher, but it settled when Marik leaned forwards to claim his lips once more. They kissed again, longer this time, mouths moving far more tenderly as they adjusted to each other. Each sought to give the other pleasure until the necessity for air pulled them apart.

Marik panted, smiling shyly at Bakura, their hands linked together on the tabletop. "I know something better than stealing a kiss."

"Hmm?" Bakura's hum was a question as he played with the ring on Marik's middle finger.

Marik smiled. "A kiss can be stolen, or taken, or thieved. But it isn't really a kiss until both sides are equal."

"Mhmm." Bakura quirked a brow, leaning a little closer again.

Marik tapped him lightly on the nose. "So no more stealing when I'm sleeping. Got it?"

"You really are a spoilsport." Bakura shut up Marik's muffled response with another kiss.

They shared many more, but none were quite as sweet to Bakura as that first one, when Marik was half-asleep, and he could show all the tenderness that he usually kept buried.

**I REALLY suck at ending these things. ^_^**

**So, FanGirl16 and I were discussing Bakura and we realised that magpie really works as a nickname for him hehe. You know, he's got white hair, wears a black coat, and is obsessed with shiny things ... so Marik's new nickname for him is 'magpie' in my head. XD Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that oneshot! - Jem**


End file.
